


The Circle

by alphabetray



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, its canon but weird, most ships are background, sort of crack ships, tw brief description of childbirth, weird au, written at midnight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 06:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17996510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphabetray/pseuds/alphabetray
Summary: Across Exandria, fate tangles itself into an evercomplex knot. A group of shopkeepers follow the adventures of the legendary heroes of the realm.





	The Circle

On the day that Vax’ildan ‘dies’, a lot of things happen. Two women get married in a citadel sheltered by eternal night. They’re neither of them young anymore nor are they naive enough to imagine that the world has paused to allow them this special day. They do not know that a continent away, seven idiots are battling a god. The man officiating the wedding checks his watch. He has about twenty minutes left before he needs to head out but the women seem to have a lot to say in their vows. No one in the audience seems to react to this apparent show of disinterest, their expressionless faces staring blankly into the distance while one of the women talks.

On the other side of the continent, in the comfort of her luxurious bed, a woman goes through the incredibly uncomfortable process of giving birth. She has only allowed two trusted maids in to help her through the process and they scurry around her carrying towels and doing their best to support her. Numbly, she wishes her love was here to help her. He promised he would be back by time time their child was born. He has still not returned and she worries that he never will. She does not know if she is ready to raise a child alone, if the environment she lives in is inherently harmful to one. She pushes one last time and the maids rush to help as she gasps through the pain. Somewhere beyond the divine gate a god takes her focus away from the battle for Vasselheim and just for a second looks at this child wrapped so tightly in the strings of fate.

In that second a lot of things happen.

Vecna is banished. As he is called far beyond the point of return an undead half elf hums confusedly before suddenly vanishing. His sister, lover and friends stare at the point where he stood moments ago before concluding that this is the work of the gods and heading home to mourn. 

In Vasselheim proper a house explodes. While onlookers are later sure that its owner (who is meant to be at a wedding right now) set off his vast supply of gunpowder in the confusion of the ongoing battle no one sees a king from another continent darting away through the streets with soot smeared all over him and his hair standing on end. His unpleasant task is complete and, with all the distractions, it is unlikely that any of his victim’s peers will attribute this death to anything more than a heroic sacrifice. He hopes they will not have time to catch his ghost on its way out. He is wrong.

A woman finishes her wedding vows and the majority of the onlookers do not react. A stout firbolg who is older than he technically should be right now applauds but seems confused. The man officiating the whole wedding seems like he might be out of time and teleports in a flash of golden smoke, leaving his signature cologne wafting through the air. In his place a strangely proportioned woman steps up. She seems familiar to the woman just about to start her vows who winces and asks her soon to be wife why all the shopkeepers have to come to their wedding. Her dark armor is polished and gleaming in the firelight and she looks every inch the empress to outside eyes. Every time her gaze catches that of her blue robed love, however, she melts. A girl of only a few years of age squirms in her locked bedroom every time their eyes meet. She doesn’t know what’s making her energetic but she feels like something important is happening somewhere. 

A goblin, freshly arrived from Assarius, pushes a wooden manaquin off one of the benches at the back of the hall and sits down. There is a tabaxi sitting in the rafters. They are not all there but one of their number is busy and another is dead. They are not sure if they will miss him.

The empress finishes her vows and kisses her wife. The monk responds in kind but knows that for this wedding to mean anything, it will have to be repeated back home. She loves her wife but dreads the reactions of her countrymen. Not for the first time, she wonders what she will do if the situation escalates any further. Their living audience applauds them, their wooden audience stares on in silence. It should have been an accomplishment, something to bring together two nations forever on the brink of war, but the god pans over it in search of her now errant champion. The universe may have declared the debt fulfilled but he is not beside her and she feels disappointed in his inability to keep his word.

Her champion falls through the void in a confused daze. He has been falling for a few minutes now in a monotonous shade even his keen eyes cannot pierce through and he is getting bored. He had hoped his goddess would have something more interesting for him than falling through time for all eternity. A strong hand grasps at his wrist and he almost jerks away from the lifeline in his shock at something other than the constant dark before gripping it firmly. His other hand grabs at the attached wrist, palm pressing into a cool circle of some kind like a bracelet of some unknown design. He knows where he is now. The bead curtain is familiar, the smell of incense an old friend and the man in front of him an older friend. He embraces his savior and he is warm and he is alive.

He tells him about a wedding in another continent and about a child born on that continent. About the brief distraction of a goddess and how he couldn’t believe he was about to leave without saying goodbye. A man with grey tufts of hair and a claw hand peeks through the curtain and opens his mouth to speak before thinking better of it and leaving. The hands on the watch are motionles. There are two ghosts too many here even for a being like him to conceal from a god and he is meant to be in Vasselheim right now, grieving. He kisses the champion a second time and the champion knows they do not have long. He would ask for a final meal but he does not think he can taste it. The man promises he will visit him regularly and he means it. The god arrives and scoops up her champion and the man with the claw hand and carries them off and the man goes to Vasselheim to continue playing his part.

For the next twenty years he does just that. The baby and the little girl grow up and meet, though he does not see them. The firbolg catches back up to his own time and while the other him is sure he only had two simulacra, he does not question the third that has appeared. He insists he is number two and none of the others care enough to say anything. He enjoys reliving the early shopkeeping years.

The marriage breaks down and this the god pays attention to. It has not achieved anything and war is coming. The monk cannot betray her country, the empress must lead hers to war. They part still very much in love and yet sure they will never see each other again. The man who helps them with the legal issues surrounding the divorce keeps checking his watch. When they ask, he informs them he has a date with death. A man in raven feathered armor is waiting outside of his office as they emerge and offers him his arm. They leave together as the monk and the empress watch on in silence before heading to two very different homes. 

Twenty years later the monk meets an angry girl who has a lot of potential. She trains her to fight. Number two watches her grow with some degree of interest but does not make the connection. The angry girl is one part of events and he knows his duty to her. That the past and the present might overlap seems implausible and there are many in the Cobalt Soul who might be her teacher.

The monk returns to the wasteland where she found love and the shadows are spreading across the sky. She is not here for the only reason she thought she would ever return. Information is her business and the face she wears is not her own. The man with the watch is waiting for her in Asarius and though he has hardly changed she barely recognizes him. His elven blooded companion is talking animatedly but their eyes meet and he smiles a jovial but yet all too knowing smile. She feels inadequately protected in her shape but he says nothing and returns his attentions to the man sitting opposite him. He has not aged, neither of them have, but these years have brought something new to each of their faces. The runes that occasionally used to flare on the man’s face glare consistently now as though to remind the world that he is more than he was. His companion stares out with the eyes of his goddess, who he is and is not. No one else in the tavern seems to pay them any mind.

Time passes and the monk continues her mission. The mannequins have taken to following her around again but they seem to understand the need for discretion and have mostly stuck to the shadows and the rafters. She has kept her eyes out for any of the other wedding attendees. She generally assumes they can all see through any disguise. The man with the watch leaves and reappears at random, sometimes with his companion and sometimes without. A purple tiefling accompanies him at one point before the half elven man appears, grabs the tiefling by the arm and, giving his current lover a disapproving glare, vanishes with the tiefling back to his queen’s domain.

Number 2 should not be here but it is his turn now and he will not be left out of the following proceedings.

First, a no longer quite so angry girl causes a stir at the tavern in which the monk is staying. If she were anyone else, the monk would have stood aside. Instead she finds herself unable to stay out of the fray. Her student does well and number 2 is pleased to see his creations seeing some use.

In one version of events the student does not hold back. The disguise falls as the monk does. The kryn soldiers drag her before their mistress who recognizes her and she is sent to Ghor Dranas. Her former wife is shocked and betrayed to learn her purpose but she cannot face killing the woman she still loves. The monk spends the rest of the war in a cell burning with resentment and when she emerges her empire is gone and her protégée is a favorite of her captor. Number 2 is not a fan of these events and dismisses them with a flick of his wrist.

The student holds back and the monk carefully and precisely delivers her knockout blow. Her prized pupil hits the floor next to an overconfident ogre and her tiefling friend. The rest of their group rush over to patch them up and they stagger back to their table groaning. The monk knows she will have to deal with this. Her student is a long way from home. The pink firbolg looks at number 2 and seems momentarily confused but says nothing and turns his attention back to his friends, as the monk sits down and pulls the energy of the room towards her.

The goddess looks at the unfolding events through her champions eyes. The threads of fate are all tangled up in a bright pink haversack and she doesn’t even know where to start at repairing this tapestry. The fate touched tiefling seems barely aware that the threads looping and rooted through her are slowly getting knotted up in a way that is badly messing up consequence and the normal flow of events. The champion frowns and the man with the watch pats his hand in a gesture of comfort.

The monk leads her protégée to an ally and ignores the mannequins watching from the rooves. Madam Mask is also there, though not currently assembled, and watching intently though with no malicious intent. It’s been a long time since they were all together in one place. A little more than 20 years. The claw handed man is still dead with no indication on when he plans on coming back so he doesn’t count anymore.

Number 2 makes a logical conclusion and gets to his feet. He is not sure what it means but he is fairly sure it’s important. The man with the watch bids goodnight to his companion who vanishes back to his own realm and follows number 2. He is no longer in charge of the unfolding events. That baton passed on a while ago.

The protégée asks the tiefling if she wants to watch her make out with the still disguised monk and the tiefling realizes she does not know what she wants. For a second she hates the protégée but realizes she is being unfair almost immediately after and does her best to stop. Somewhere in the shadows, number 2 approves.

The student and the teacher embrace and share some information. One has come in search of great events and one has simply come stumbling in quite by accident but nevertheless both are here. Almost like some divine hand has moved coincidence to lead mentor and mentee together. The onlookers are well aware that that’s ridiculous. If that were the case they would surely know. Divine eyes blink confusedly when they realize all of these shopkeepers are in the wrong place.

They align themselves against the dynasty. The monk has always been a clever liar, something she is keen to encourage in her protégée, and they ride for Ghor Dranas. A long dead old man steps out of a rift in space and time and looks up confusedly at the night sky above him. He can feel his friends drawing near, following the threads of fate as they dance to the tune of a beacon in the haversack of a fate touched tiefling. This whole war is unfortunate and he feels guilty, as much as he can feel guilt, for allowing it to happen. The drow give him a wide berth as he walks to the outer wall and stands guard. Morning is not coming, not to this lonely citadel, but events are drawing to a head.

Days pass and a trio of cat beasts bear their riders close to the city. The old man jumps off the wall and falls out of his body when he lands. It doesn’t matter, the queen can’t see anything this close to the heart of the knot and her champion hasn’t been invited for the journey. Seven adventurers and one lonely traveler finally headed home pass his corpse and look at it confused. The tiefling and the protégée are holding hands. They stare at his corpse before clutching each other tighter. He can’t see where one’s fate ends and the other’s begins, not with the tangle tying them together so tightly.

His friends follow behind them and gather around him. The circle is closed, the mannequins surrounding them and sheltering them. Fate reworks itself.

Empress Leylas Kryn stares out of her bedroom window and her eyes fall on a very clearly disguised drow woman walking with a mismatched group all in increasingly clunky disguises. She does not know why she does not call for the guard but she doesn’t. Instead she opens her window and jumps out, allowing her magic to catch her before she hits the ground. The spell hiding Dairon’s true form dissipates easily and for the first time in over twenty years their eyes meet. Beau feels a shiver run down her spine which is not borne of fear and clutches at Jester’s hand. Dairon looks at her former wife and wonders how much she has missed. Neither of them have aged overmuch and yet she feels the time lost and the war forever dividing them. She thinks of her king and instead of loyalty she feels rage and anger and a strange sense of betrayal. 

Fate reworks itself.

King Bertrand Dwendal awakes in his chambers. It is the early hours of the morning and he turns over to return to his slumber only to come face to face with another being lying next to him. Its wooden features turn to him and he feels inhuman hands slide around his neck. He tries to call for help but by some strange coincidence his guards have both run off down the hallway to help a servant having a heart attack. He dies alone and it is hours before anyone finds him. The servant survives through the aid of the guards and returns safely home to her family.

Fate reworks itself.

Marion Lavorre realizes her husband is never coming back. She also realizes that she doesn’t really want him to. Her daughter is all grown and a man who could willingly abandon her does not deserve her. She grieves briefly and the woman in bed next to her stirs and leans over to check on her, gently touching the tears running down her face. Captain Adella is not a client though has enough wealth that she probably should be charging her. However, Marion has always been a romantic at heart and the bold seafarer sweeping her off her feet certainly makes for a tale. She thinks she is very well on her way to being very much in love with the other woman. She wonders how she will explain it to her daughter, but knows her precious sapphire will understand. It feels thematically appropriate to the circle.

Fate reworks itself.

Vax’ildan is falling through the inky darkness again with no clear end in sight. After the decades he’s had, he knows now that he is falling through time. He also knows just whose domain this is and this time it feels significantly less threatening. There will be an end to the falling. His feet hit the ground and he stands facing his family and knows that this is a gift from Shaun. Another chance, the farewell that was taken from him the first time around. As he walks away to his mother’s embrace, snowdrops bloom in his footsteps and all that remains are feathers. A little over twenty years later, he is waiting on the edge of the darkness for his lover to emerge. He’s missed him but he had to wait for them both to catch up. Paradoxes get so messy.

Time reworks itself.

The war ends. The king is dead and the empire negotiate a truce. Borders are reinstated but things seem better now. People are less trigger happy and more eager to find the peaceful solution. Empress Leylas Kryn remarries Dairon and this time the hall is full of attendees from both kingdoms. Beau kisses Jester in a guest room and the tangled strings of fate sort themselves into some sort of presentable order. Not everything is well, the beacons still obfuscate the passage of time and fate but the goddess’s champion is otherwise occupied. He’ll get to it in his own time and she is afraid to cross the man with the watch. Gilmore. Even thinking his name feels wrong somehow.

The circle breaks apart. They will come back together soon enough. Time always demands it. And fate continues to weave its merry way around the seven adventurers. From the shadows, Pumat number 2 aka Pumat Prime but from the future smiles. Time marches forward and he knows what awaits around the corner.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading? I’m alphabetray on twitter and keliyestergard on tumblr. Thanks I guess to the beaujester discord for being vaguely supportive when I first came up with the idea.  
> I am so sorry


End file.
